


All Things Undone Restored

by chantefable



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Adventure, Ancient Rome, Bees, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Metamorphosis, Mysticism, Shapeshifting, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are mysteries, misadventures, cults, lovers, and transformation. </p><p>(Or, Lucius Is A Were-bee.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Things Undone Restored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caithnard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caithnard/gifts).



> Writing this short story involved a great deal of serious research of classical literature, Roman philosophy, agricultural matters, mystery cults, and sexuality. Nevertheless, it is a tale of a man turning into a bee. 
> 
> A frivolous tale can be told with great earnestness, and many earnest matters can be narrated frivolously. Whichever way the Muse has made this story to be, I pray you gaze upon it with a tolerant eye.
> 
> Caveat lector!

"A buzzing: they murmur around the doors and on the doorsteps."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

It came about by chance that Lucius gained the miraculous ability to transform his body into that of an industrious gold-specked insect. And yet, as it is the case with numerous chances, this strange occurrence was doubtless brought about by Lucius' own inclinations inasmuch as it was due to the fickleness of the gods. Because truly, when one has a keen passion for the miraculous, fate shall find a way to give them a taste of the sting!

Lucius was born in Madauros, in the hour that the Greeks associate with the repose of Pan, and announced his arrival in this world with a cry so shrill that his mother, a recent convert to the cult of Isis, took it as an omen of some wondrous occasion. He was indeed a wonderful boy, of a lively mind that was at odds with his somewhat stilted manner, and with his handsome dark skin and smouldering cow-like eyes could have easily been proclaimed the most beguiling child on all of Numidia. And he would have been, had his family not been healthy and wealthy enough to indulge a yearning for travel. Young Lucius listened to the whisper of the sand and the babble of the waves, the yowl of the wind and the grind of stones, the donkeys' bray and the horses' neigh, and learned their meaning with as much zeal as he reserved for the study of letters and arithmetic. 

The world was a vast, wondrous place, be it Getulia or Egypt, Carthage or Athens, and Lucius' childhood was as sweet as honey for as long as his parents' purses were full of similarly golden coin. Young Lucius had marvellous opportunities to learn about the habits of livestock and the movement of celestial bodies – by any measure, most useful things. Little did Lucius know how he was going to make use of these skills eventually! But, as Apuleius is known to have said, the things we know are finite while the things we do not know are infinite, and Lucius' confrontation with this infinity was, of course, inevitable.

Joyful times pass as quickly as sorrowful ones, though we may bemoan them as brief and lament that is unjustly lasting. Childhood creeps into adolescence and adolescence barrels into adulthood as surely as Apollo ushers his chariot through the sky: sparing no worry for one's opinion. And so, the merry days of learning and assisting his parents with their labours were over, much to young Lucius' discontent. 

On the day it was decided that Lucius was to join the legions and make a career for himself, for the continuous pursuit of pleasure and knowledge had left his parents far less well-off than they had once been, Lucius ran away and cried bitterly, wiping the tears off his face with the hem of his dusty cloak. He addressed many reproaches to Juno, Mithras, Isis, and the secret sacred self of the great Dionysius; he recalled all the cults of mysteries that either one or both his parents, or Lucius himself were initiated in, and wept profusely that all their mighty spiritual wonders, be they marginal or mainstream in the great empire of Rome, were apparently powerless in the face of vulgar bankruptcy. The sun rays felt hot and cruel on his cheeks, as stinging as Lucius' own tears, and Lucius himself felt tiny and inconsequential in this wide world that he loved so much, his sense of belonging contrasting with how little was left for him to decide.

Such was Lucius' despair at the thought of abandoning his teachers, his parents, his cousins and the meditative pleasures with which he was used to be filling his days in the service of gods and goddesses, that he became convinced that, from that day forward, even the most delicious honey-cakes would be sticky and vile in his throat, and even the most fragrant and fresh of wines would taste like rancid garum. The legions were about to take over his life with dull duties and meticulous blood-shed; the legions were to fill Lucius' days with labour, exercise and submission infinitely different from beautiful wrestling and artful poetry, from the study of wonderful metamorphoses and incantations... with such an abominable future looming over him, Lucius bit his teeth into his plump lower lip and decided, with youthful spite, that since he was forced to step on such a boring and grievous path, he might as well stop weeping over himself and go even further in shedding familiar customs and depriving himself in new, surprising ways. 

One should not seek logic where there is none; suffice it to say that Lucius entered the legions as an adept of the most radical and bizarre Roman cult that he could think of: Christianity.

"Some look rough and slovenly, as when out of thick dust  
comes a wayfarer, parched, and spits dirt from his thirsty  
mouth. Others gleam and fulgent flash  
blazing in bodies trimmed with uniform flecks of gold:  
this is the better breed, for these at the sky's appointed season  
you will strain sweeter honey – so sweet, but more clear,  
and fit to mellow the harsh taste of wine."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

However, as a young man of much learning and mental agility, who had seen the daily life of the many provinces of Rome and gained insight into a number of important cults of mysteries, Lucius resolved to be as crafty as he was earnest in his practice, and promptly adopted the same approach to his service as well. And although he soon came to realise that his disposition would never allow him to luxuriate in success (for Lucius could be mean and indifferent where another was eager to please, and keenly curious where another would let their superiors keep a shameful secret), he mostly avoided scandal enough to make a relatively comfortable living, and did not disgrace himself beyond a routine brawl and immoderate gluttony at an occasional inn.

As an adult, Lucius was sincere and cordial, square-shouldered and muscled, and proved himself agreeable in company and reliable in service. He sought to be kind and generous inasmuch as circumstances would allow him to be kind and generous, and inasmuch as it did not interfere with his intense contemplation of the world. His dark eyes strayed frequently towards the bleeding edge of horizon at dawn, and his mind conjured the mysteries of Isis once again; with the warm liquid gold of sunlight caressing his skin, it was much more pleasant to recall the soft rhythm of Virgil's verse than Seneca's harsh discourse. 

(Lucius did not know how handsome his dark hair shone in the warm light and how appealing fellow men frequently found him as they stood guard together, for, misconceptions aside, a lot of soldiers in the legions were either shy or foolish, or both, and these shy fools were limiting themselves to covetous glances at Lucius' broad shoulders and not much more in their personal attempt at stoicism.) 

He was familiar with the most brazen love poetry and the most practical scientific work, but the wisdom of Varro and the passions of Catullus were of little comfort or usefulness when Lucius' duty happened to be shovelling manure or overseeing rations; The Eclogues, however, and The Georgics even more so, had a unique quality to them that enabled the words to soothe an irked spirit and achieve a calm, equanimous mind, so Lucius developed a profound appreciation of the latter poem. Its lack of dramatic events made it even dearer to Lucius' heart when he finally did manage to find himself in dire straits over a tedious disagreement, and was forced to abandon his current posting in the south for Britannia, a horrible place where one simply could not have enough socks for comfort.

"There are those to whom guard duty at the gates falls by lot;  
in turn they eye heaven's showers and overcast,  
or receive loads from incomers, or in mustered squads  
blockade the drones (that shiftless ruck) from the stalls."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

Having woken up on his first day at Castellum, Lucius was briefly convinced that Morpheus was still holding him in a deadly chokehold, but the bustling sounds filling the fort chased away the foolish notion that he was held hostage as a piece in ludus latrunculorum between Phobos and Deimos themselves, or some other nonsense. Deciding once again – as he kept deciding every morning for the past month – that being exiled to the very outskirts of the empire shrouded in eternal drizzle was not a reason to succumb to gloom, but an opportunity for discovery – something that Lucius kept repeating to himself with as much forcefulness as satyrs reserve for pouring wine down their throats – he set off to learn the habits and mores of this new place.

Surprises followed at every turn, and, had Lucius been a stuck-up equestrian with little reading and even less understanding, he would have pinched himself thinking the ways of the Frontier Wolves nothing more than a quaint boasting tale some forlorn traveller might have subjected unwary listeners to at a roadside inn. Wolf skins! Wolves! Tales of animal transformation! Drinking games! Fighting games! Dancing games! And so on, and so forth. 

The warm-eyed man who had taken upon himself to initiate Lucius in the mysterious ways of the Third Ordo Frontier Scouts, Hilarion, spoke of these things in a manner that was jocular, but Lucius' natural astuteness made him see that these were anything but jests. Knowing that he could appear a little wooden even when he intended to be cordial, Lucius grasped Hilarion's arm with cheerful strength and gave him his full attention.

Lucius soon found his place and became accustomed to his new situation. While this posting was much further from the beloved seas and shores he had travelled in his boyhood, Julius Gavros was ultimately no different from his previous ducenarii, and whenever Lucius longed for the sands of Egypt or the light of Getulia, he sought them in the familiar cadence of Virgil's Latin that echoed in his heart as he re-read The Georgics. The calm he found in them was sweet and golden, different from the ecstasy of the mysteries of Dionysius or the exultation of the mysteries of Isis, different from the aggressive defiance of the Christian cult that allured him so in his youth.

The men of the Third Ordo were the same as everywhere, in the sense that they were just as unlike each other, hailing from different provinces, as they were everywhere else in the legions. They all had their own stories, frequently containing some transgression or disgrace – or in fewer cases, bad luck – and Lucius' unrepentant curiosity, combined with an air of trustworthiness he exuded, made sure that Lucius had pried nearly every man's story out of them by the time he was to get his own wolf skin. 

The senior centenarius hadn't hesitated to share his tale with Lucius almost immediately; being experienced and quick-witted, Hilarion sensed a kindred soul in him and was both serious and jubilant in the assurances of his friendship, and in the space of a few weeks Lucius began to share an understanding with him that he had rarely achieved with others before.

"Let gardens breathing saffron flowers beckon,  
and let the watchman against thieves and birds, guardian  
Priapus of Hellespont, protect with his willow-hook."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

On the prescribed day, Lucius went hunting with Hilarion, an affair which, surprisingly enough, took far more time than anticipated. Alas! Hilarion in particular was upset at their misfortune, and kept rambling about the importance of Lucius having his very own wolf skin; all the scouts of their Ordo were initiated in the same local mystery, and the rite of passage was essential to their unity.

Fruitless search takes as much time as a successful chase, though the first feels infinitely more frustrating and tedious. However, these long hours were not unpleasant, for Lucius had ample opportunity to appreciate Hilarion's lean frame and graceful limbs, and the soft glint of his pale hair in the light of the setting sun, as they tried to track a wolf. Hilarion, being neither shy nor a fool, had long made it known that he considered Lucius to be as handsome as he was astute and able, which was plenty. Both of them were similarly affected by each other's closeness as they crouched by the riverbank and, hidden by the soft branches of the lush bushes, hoped for a wolf to come following a thirsty doe. 

Hilarion, who had an unshakeable habit of leaning against walls, doorways, and anything that would prop up his weight, was unable to sit straight and tightly curled himself into Lucius instead, digging his sharp shoulder into Lucius' chest, and Lucius would have expressed his outrage at his friend's blatant attempt to leech Lucius' body warmth, had it not been for the fact that Lucius was, in fact, very cold despite the two pairs of socks he was wearing with his sandals – both of them won in a game of dice from two other poor fellows hailing from Egypt – and Hilarion's skin felt hot while his wolf fur cloak was comfortably heavy where he'd wrapped it around both of them. So Lucius decided it merited no other reproach than a smile.

They kept sitting thus, trying to ambush a wolf that would not deign to come, for quite a while, and Morpheus got close enough to Hilarion to make him slump against Lucius' stomach and mutter angrily about missing wolf-skins and necessary metamorphoses, so that Lucius had to silence him by placing his hand over Hilarion's soft lips, which nonetheless would not stop moving and thus tickling Lucius' palm. 

Lucius and Hilarion were close in age and circumstance, and Hilarion was of a higher rank, even, so many would have found the attraction Lucius experienced hard to believe. Lucius, however, had read too many books and known too many people to believe in only one form of beauty, or affection, or desire; what he knew with certainty was that Hilarion's freckled face marred with a sleepy frown was the most wonderful sight of all, and in that moment Lucius could not help thinking himself as besotted as Encolpius had been over Giton. At these thoughts Lucius felt a stirring in his loins, and the organ which must be deemed any man's sacred good-luck charm on account of the blessed divinity of Priapus promptly swelled into corpulence like a sturdy cucumber.

Immediately alert at this auspicious sign, Lucius was indeed rewarded with the goat-legged god's favour when a loud ruckus in the trees was followed by the sharp sound of hooves and the heavy, whooshing noise of a large, fast-moving body. A wolf emerged in the clearing, cautiously approaching the water, and Lucius knew that this was his chance to secure the wolf skin and his place among the scouts of Castellum according to their secret custom. However, he was loathe to disturb his friend, still asleep in Lucius' lap, or to move from their hiding-place, where he was wrapped by the cloth and the branches, as warm and secure as a bee in a hive.

Watching the wolf move, Lucius found his ears filled with the familiar sounds of waves lapping at the shore, of sandstorms and night breezes, the white blazing light of Numidia and the frothing blue Aegean Sea, the beating of his heart as slow as the cadence of Virgil's measured words. He felt very light then, and very quick, ready for battle as part of a large, swarming mass, and simultaneously hungry for sweetness.

"He will glow with spots shagged in gold."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

Having come back to his senses the following day, Lucius realised he was squatting against the mossy trunk of an upturned tree, shivering and completely naked. He looked around with some disgruntlement, shaking off the tumultuous haze that had overcome him and carried him to places unknown. No further than a stone's throw away, Hilarion was busy cooking what looked like a really tiny and underfed rabbit over the fire. Judging by the sun, shrouded as it was in pale grey clouds, it was already noon.

Upon noticing that Lucius had awoken, Hilarion hastened to him, wildly waving his arms about, and spared no crass word to let Lucius know how senseless he'd thought Lucius to be. In his savage indignation, Hilarion certainly bore more resemblance to a matron in the marketplace or an old hen chastising the chicks than a dangerous wolf, and Lucius could not contain his laughter. Once he started, he could not stop, his limbs shaking like branches in the wind, which only made Hilarion roll his eyes and stomp back to the fire. There, he retrieved his bundled-up cloak and rushed to cover Lucius' privates, so that the junior centenarius of the Third Ordo could continue his merriment in a less shameful manner.

And although Hilarion continued grumbling like an old wife for the better part of the day, and wondered what sacred cult of mysteries had taken precedence in Lucius' life so that his hidden self was revealed to be that of a bee, he was learned and well-mannered enough not to pry in the secrets not meant for the uninitiated. This, however, still left Hilarion ample opportunity to bemoan the fact that he and Lucius would not be able to gaze upon each other as wolves during the mysteries of their community.

Still, despite this wondrous and unforeseen transformation, Lucius did manage to secure a wolf skin that night, and was accepted as a Frontier Wolf, fully conforming to what was demanded according to the custom of this faraway northern land. Were he to retrace his blessings to the earliest source, he would have felt the great mystery of Isis flowing along his newborn flesh and settling with the taste of the eastwind and mother's milk; instead, however, Lucius preferred to focus on the joys and sorrows of today, the daily life at Castellum under the command of Julius Gavros, and the generous companionship of the handsome Hilarion, whose fair hair gleamed with gold under the midday sun.

"Then all hopped-up they muster themselves, flash wings,  
whet stingers with jaws and cinch up muscles,  
and round the king right up to his battle-post thronged  
they swarm and with great ruckus call out the foe."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

The scouts of the Third Ordo were men, as different and as alike as men in the legions can be. They looked like men, breathed like men, ate like men, drank like men, fought like men and died like men. This was a thing that was known. The Frontier Wolves thought like wolves, sought like wolves, and fought like wolves. This, too, was a thing that was known, albeit only by the initiated. The Frontier Scouts were bound together by being wolves, and that was definitely more important than whether they were actually wolves or not, and whether they thought themselves to be wolves.

Who could know what the Selgovae and the Arcani, the Votadini and the Picts thought themselves to be?

Commanding the Rear Guard on the bridge, Lucius fought like a junior centenarius and like a scout, like a Frontier Wolf. Man and bee, he rushed forth with all the skill and might he had, and, as the Fate had willed it, died as a man.

As a bee, however, he surely lived, his inquisitive mind finding a way to make the best of the new, strange circumstances.

"Hereabout let flourish green cassia and far-fragrant  
thyme and a garland of savory with its heady exhalations,  
and let violet beds drink from the gurgling spring."

Virgil, The Georgics: Book Four

**Author's Note:**

> The passages on war-like bees from Virgil's _The Georgics_ (Book Four) are quoted according to the Kimberly Johnson translation.
> 
> During Virgil's lifetime, the two major philosophical schools are Epicureanism and Stoicism. An attempt to incorporate elements of both into the story has been made.
> 
> Lucius is described in _Frontier Wolf_ as "square, dark, and a little wooden". In this story, he is assumed to be a Numidian from Madauros for the purpose of oblique witticisms.
> 
> Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis was a Numidian from Madauros, a well-travelled Roman author and initiate in many cults of mysteries. His bawdy picaresque novel _The Golden Ass_ is about a young man Lucius who is turned into a donkey.
> 
> Marcus Terentius Varro was a Roman scholar who pointed out the importance of placing the bee hive close to the water.
> 
> Roman bee-keepers likely made hives from bark, fennel stems or wicker-work, smearing the inside with cow dung.
> 
> Praising blond hair in Latin poetry really begins with Catullus gushing about the fair tresses of his mistress. Horace celebrates the reddish gold hair of Pyrrha the courtesan. In Augustan times, hair was dyed blond with herbs from Germania. Either way, Hilarion's sandy hair make him quite beautiful and desirable according to the fashions of the day.
> 
> Like _The Golden Ass_ , _The Book of Satyrlike Adventures_ by Gaius Petronius is what can be called a "Roman novel". Some references are made to Chapters 79-98, about Encolpius and his young male lover Giton.
> 
> Priapus was a Greek god of fertility, livestock, bee-keeping, fruit & vegetables, gardens, masculinity, genitalia, and sex. Popular in Greek and Roman culture, he was worshipped where sheep or goats pasture and where bees swarm. Priapus was marked by a huge penis and permanent erection, and little phallic charms in his honour were used for good luck.


End file.
